


A Star for the King

by Koshusan (Dajichan)



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Arguments, Elf/Human Relationship(s), Elvenking, F/M, Haute Couture Elf, Kissing, Making Out, Mirkwood, Moose, Sass Bitch King, Self-Esteem Issues, Sex, Snappy - Freeform, Thief, dark secrets, servant - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:42:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25675282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dajichan/pseuds/Koshusan
Summary: After the great battle of the Five Armies is settled, peace seems to return in Middle Earth.Thranduil, the Elvenking of Mirkwood, is an attentive ruler of his kingdom. Every day goes as the one before until a thief is found in his palace...
Relationships: Thranduil/Original Female Character(s), Thranduil/Reader
Comments: 29
Kudos: 136





	1. The Greatest Heist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plan is made and carried out.

"Which path will you follow now?"

You smirk. "Where fortune leads me, friend."

"Ever thought of Erebor?" 

You take a sip of honeyed beer, look for long seconds in the golden liquid. "The Lonely Mountain...", you look up, "...I always deemed it too dangerous. First there was this bloody dragon, for centuries!" You bend closer over the table, voice lowering to a foreboding whisper, barely audible among the noises of the tavern. "And now... they say, the gold, all the fortune that lies inside Erebor... is cursed." Your audience leans forward, they don't want to miss any word. 

"Every one who gets into possession of some of it... goes MAD!", you cry out, making everyone jump. You laugh at their faces, gulp down your drink and bang the tankard on the wooden table. "Nah, that's too risky for me."

You grin. "There are other places with gold for me to reach. So, dear Sirs, close your doors at night or I might come for _yours_!"

In your room upstairs you study a map outspread on the bed. You have lied at the table, you have often thought of Erebeor and its vast riches. The fear of the legends and rumours hold you off that place. And didn't the Dwarven Kings go crazy during their rule there? It was not worth it. Your finger follows a narrow line on the map. It shows the Woodland Realm and the surrounding area with all its human villages and towns. Some of them are crossed out, you mark them after you visit them. Can't steal in the same place twice, right?

Yep. That's what you do. Burglary, theft, relieving people of their treasures and coin - that's your living. That's how you pay for life. 

Next one would be something so small you would barely call it a town, a bigger farm maybe. It is close to the border of Mirkwood. You gnaw on your lower lip, thinking. 

Was it worth to stop there? There were no big hoardes to expect. And you couldn't fit chickens in your backpack, you tried.

Your finger slide further over the map, stopping at a certain point, highlighted. Hmm.

The Kingdom of the Woodelves... 

You furrow your brows, the brain engine on full power. It was common knowledge that the King was _very_ keen on treasure, with a particular passion for gems. Just a handful would be enough to live carefree and luxurious till the end of your days. 

You pull out another map from your backpack. Mirkwood. The palace is there... always heavily guarded, even more after the events that finally lead to the big battle in front of the Lonely Mountain. You stroke your chin thoughtfully. Was it worth it? You glance at the other map again, checking which town would be next to raid. Small settlement, no big deal, no danger there. Mirkwood... high risk, high reward. With a prize like that you could move to the White City, living like a Queen. You grin. It is settled, isn't it?

But you need preparation. A plan. Who knows what those Woodelves and their eccentric King do with thieves. This will be your most grandiose heist!

You rub your eyes. It's been weeks now since you practically moved in the dark forest of Mirkwood to spy on the palace of the Woodelves. This is nothing like your common burglaries, in and out within minutes. No, you watch the guard routines, try to count them, see different Elves, looking for some vantage point and the best time and way to get in, all that while avoiding the hightened senses of the Elves, avoiding the horrors and deadly animals of the woods themselves. You're tired, hungry and dirty. With the Elves and their daily patrols you couldn't set up a permanent camp.

Your eyes wander to the moon, your pale friend these days, two hours till moonset, and as predicted the guard changes. You have already decided that a side entrance will be the safest way in, you have to watch for the perfect moment, a distraction to slip through. Once inside, the next big task will await you: Finding the treasury. There is no possibility to look inside the palace, no windows, nothing to catch a glimpse of the layout.

However, it's not as if you didn't try to find out _something_. You have asked everyone who could have a connection to the Elven palace, you've been to Lake Town since you know there were trades between the city and the Elvenking's Halls. You were disappointed, the traders only told you that their wares were collected by the Elves themselves. Secretive knife ears... the odds could be better but when this goes right, you won't have to care for anything else in your whole life. Always the goal in mind.

You retreat deep in the forest, far away from the palace. Every day you spend here longer the danger grows bigger to be finally detected or worse, eaten by the monsters roaming the woods. You have to strike soon. The moon sets, indicating the end of a long night. It's waning, soon completely dark. Best night to do it. Impossible to be here another month. You make yourself comfortable in the high branches of a tree. As soon as you close your eyes, dreams engulf you.

The crushed leaves release green sap, mixed with a bit of dirt, making the perfect camouflage. You plunge your fingers in the dark paste and cover your face and neck. That way even the sharp eyed Woodelves should have a hard time to see you. You check your equipment for the fivehundredth time. Knife, lockpicks, rope. You hide the rest of your stuff in a hollow tree, you won't need it. It's on.

You fleet soundless over dark grass, you know the way by heart, every twig, every bush, you fly past them. 

The gate is guarded as always, four guards standing there, watching into the dark of Mirkwood. They don't know that they're being watched too. You look at the sky, a black canvas, clouded, so far, so good. You wait for the events to unfold.

It doesn't take too long, you have the urge to smirk but it is too early to feel victorious. The branches and leaves rustle, the noises increase, the Elves clearly hear it too, their grip on their weapons firmer. On a soundless signal they vanish into the forest where they will encounter the horrible spiders. No challenge for them, but what a task it was to lure them in with carcasses... a bloody business, it must be worth it. Three guards gone, the last one stands at the first line of trees. Time to move. You approach the bridge to the entrance from the side, light steps, you can't risk to run over the bridge, you climb its flank, thanking all Valar for making you climb all those housefronts before. The Elven guards won't be occupied long with the monsters, you have to hurry. 

You crawl over the edge to the entrance, slip through swiftly. The door closes with a thud, you flinch, flee into the shadows, press against the wall. You wait, nothing moves and you risk a look around. Your mouth falls open.

You have heard of the Halls of the great Elevenking but this is nothing you could have imagined. The grand cavern is illuminated by soft yellow lanterns, even the sun could burst through, grand tree pillars, narrow ways and bridges between platforms, it is the most wonderful sight you have ever seen. You gulp. And here you shall find a treasury? You have no idea where to start. Silently you follow a pathway down, hoping for some logic sense to find the treasure chamber deep beneath the earth although that is rather the way of the Dwarves. But you have also not expected a deep cavern as palace of the Woodelves, so you're clearly no expert.

It is quiet, you encounter no one, a fact that frightens you more than it relieves you. Something feels off, you can't put a finger to it and you lay the blame on the eeriely beautiful surroundings. Where _is_ everyone? You are here already too long but you won't go back empty handed. It has to be somewhere. You start to open doors soundlessly, maybe you find it by chance. But your luck has run out.

When you turn around you find yourself face to face to six guards. Coldness runs through your veins, you back up without thought, only to be stopped by the sharp spears of another squad of guards. They seem to appear out of thin air! No way out, sweat breaks out of every pore, your heart drums somewhere in your throat. Pure instinct lets you leap forward, between the polearms, escape, away, somehow! You have no chance against the Elves. They grab you effortlessly and drag you with them, you scream and kick and bite, they are unfazed by your desperate endeavour. You can't follow their way, too much chaos in your mind to memorize the twisted paths they go.

They throw you on the floor somewhere, you look around and you stop breathing.

In the middle of the grand cavern, steps lead to a wooden throne decorated with giant antlers, high above the ground, a fall would surely be deadly. On this incredible throne sits an Elf, breathtakingly gorgeous, pale as it's typical for his race, grey and blue eyes piercing through you, looking deep down at your soul. His hair is long, light blond, almost silver, hold back by a crown made of twigs, between them red and brown leaves and berries of autumn. He frowns his prominent black brows as he watches you, he stands up, revealing his elegant magnitude, cladded in finest robes.

A sight for eternity. Thranduil, King of Mirkwood.

A guard steps forward, a beautiful ginger She-Elf, she bows respectfully before her King. "As ordered, we caught the Orc now."

_Now? Did they know you were there...?_

_Wait. ORC?!_

"I am no Orc!", you scream, earning yourself a slap in the face. "Quiet, Orc!"

They can't really think you're an orc! Then you get it. The facepaint! You rub your cheek in distress to get rid of the dark camouflage. "Please, I am no Orc!", you shout, although not as loud as before. They ignore you.

"What's an Orc doing here? It's been months since the last straggler from Dol Guldur came as high up", the redhead says. "Maybe a spy?", the King's deep voice sounds clear and pleasant. You wave desperately to get their attention. "I am no Orc and no spy!" He sets his eyes on you, makes a gesture, a guard pours icecold water over you _from where?!_ , you splutter, wipe your face, the dark layer disappears revealing your very human skin.

The Elvenking watches you, circles you, you feel naked under his gaze, unworthy. He stops in front of you, looks down on you. "No Orc and no spy. Who are you then?" - "I am nobody! Please, believe me!" - "Who are you?", he asks again, with emphasis. A watchman shows him your equipment. When did he take it from you?! Thranduil scoffs. "A thief." His eyes wander over your miserable self. "Were you after treasure? Gems?"

You look up, a defiant fire flares up inside you, chin pushed out confrontational. "Maybe I wanted to catch a glimpse of the breathtaking King of these woods." His eyes widen slightly. "And now that you have? Are you satisfied?"

You shake your head, your voice a mere whisper. "No. As I never want to look away now."

Thranduil smiles, you want to cry since it is the most beautiful thing you ever saw.

"Throw her in the dungeon. I'll think of something for her punishment."


	2. The King's Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Get ready to spend a while in Mirkwood.

"Let go of me with your filthy tree strokin' fingers!" 

They push you forward, you stumble on your knees. You scramble up again, brushing dust off your simple robes. It's all you have. 

You look up and meet Thranduil's gaze. He sighs, rolls his eyes. "This is the fourth time. It is getting boring, you know." 

You keep silent. The Elvenking is right. It was your fourth attempt to escape the palace. Your fourth _failed_ attempt. 

"Then just let me go! Set me free!", you flare up. He smiles cheekily. "But that is exactly what you want. What punishment would that be?", he says, eyeing you up. The robe you wear is the same the Silvan Elf servants wear and you are no ugly sight yourself but among the naturally graceful and pretty Elves you stand out like a sore thumb. 

The guard next to you lays his fingers around your arm again and you are too tired to resist. "Where do we put her, my Lord?" - "I don't care. Make sure she won't escape." The King turns away, his bright hair swinging gently behind him. 

Back in your quarters the guard tells you where to report the next day. You nod silently, he retreats. You hurry after him, caught by surprise when the door opens as you try it. The Elf smiles at you. "Don't worry we won't lock you up in your room", his smile grows brider, "that's what the dungeon is for." - "You only lock me up in your palace", you answer. "You tried to steal from us. Punishment is inevitable." He leaves you with that to ponder.

With a sigh you sit on the bed, biting your lower lip. The room is simple yet wonderful, as everything Elven made. Bed, table and chair are beautifully crafted, spiral lines with stylized leaves, ordinary cups and bowls are worth more than anything you stole before. You sigh again as you pour yourself some water. You have tried to get away, once even with loot like the good burglar you are. It was embarassing, everytime they caught you as if they knew exactly when you had what planned. Your eloborate escape plans were jokes to the guards. And everytime they brought you before their King who was just as amused as the others, maybe even more. To stand under his gaze is no easy task. 

You lie back, eyes looking over the distant woods you can see through the ceiling high glassless windows, autumn is in full blaze, the trees red, yellow and brown. The breeze coming through is fresh already, winter is not far. Will you be still here..?

The Elves are remarkable. The fair folk of Mirkwood is graceful and fulfills every task with natural elegance. Some say the Woodelves are less wise than their cousins to the east and south but you don't know any of them well enough to know the difference. What you know is that they are masters of craft and the greatest fighters you've ever encountered. They are funny too and have their loose moments in which they seem almost... human.

One of your new duties is to prepare the training ground for the watchful guards, hanging out marks for target practice for the bows, cleaning and sharpening blades of numerous fashions. It is one of your favourites since you may watch the Elves perform their deadly grace. You admire their talent so much that you begin to ask yourself how someone could ever best an Elf. And it did happen in history, impossible to imagine when you see them now. 

Tauriel, the redhead that caught you when you tried to break in the treasuries the first time, comes to you to collect some arrows for exercise. You have no idea why she would need that as her skill is already beyond perfection. She smiles at you, always ready to share some nice words. You like her.

"Master Thief, how is it today?" You grin, you stopped blushing at that nickname. "Please, don't call me that, Tauriel. I am a mere servant", you say with an exaggerated bow. The She-Elf chuckles. She turns to the targets, takes a breath to prepare for the parkour. You watch her go, shooting arrows so quick you can't see them, slicing dummies with her daggers, a cloud of ginger hair around her, a beautiful dancer of death. She draws the bow for the last target, she releases it and you hear something before you feel it, a whizz from behind, then it darts through your hair to hit Tauriel's shot midair. You break out in cold sweat, hand immediatly shoots up to your ear, it is unharmed. 

You turn swiftly to see Thranduil lowering a magnificent bow, your anger rises, you rush towards the beautiful Elvenking. "You could have hit me, you fool!"

He raises one thick eyebrow. "But I didn't." 

" _Aran nîn (My King)_." Tauriel approaches, bows full of respect. He nods in appreciation. "Are you ready to lead a troop into the forest?" She looks surprised. "Me? Leading?" The King scoffs. "Just a small squad, nothing to get excited about, soldier. The spiders have increased in numbers. I want them destroyed." - "At once, my Lord!" Tauriel walks out of the training ground quickly leaving you with the Elvenking. 

He looks over his practising subjects, his robe as elegant as ever but without crown. He doesn't need it to mark his status among his people. 

"Have you tried it?" You glance at his face, his eyes focussed on the action around you. He turns and looks finally in your eyes, invoking the same feeling as ever, he pierces your body and soul. You shake your head. The bow was never the weapon of your choice. No weapon was ever of your choice. The moment you have to resort to a weapon marks a failed break-in. 

"Here." Thranduil presses his bow in your hands. "Do it." _What?!_ Is he crazy?

He watches you expectantly, obviously this is no joke. He really wants you to try. Little does he know, that you have never shot an arrow in your life. When you hunt, you use light spears. You step to a straight forward target, no real challenge for the Woodelves, more a warming up. You calm your breath, take an arrow from a stand nearby and draw the bow. 

The strength you have to summon to only draw it brings you to your limit. The tip of the arrow quivers, aiming is practically impossible. You give your best and release the arrow from the bowstring. 

The shot wobbles in the air and falls pathetically to the ground with a quiet wooden clatter.

You blush in embarassment when you feel the King's eyes on you again. 

"Well, that could be better. Let me..." He takes the bow back with a few arrows and leaps forward. Where Tauriel was quick, the King is swifter, his movement precise without any wasted motion. The other Elves are impressive but they can't hold a candle to their leader. He shoots arrow after arrow, one hits another, bursting in wooden chips. A demonstration of flawless skill. 

Thranduil strolls back to you, smirk on his lips, the silvery blond mane flows perfectly over his shoulders, not one hair amiss. "What do you say?" You smile at him. "Show-off." - "Maybe you can learn a thing or two." - "How to fly unnecessarily flamboyant through the air?" His eyes narrow. "Because _you_ can tell _me_ about inconspiciousness? You? Who we caught sneaking in after several weeks of clamorous stalking in my woods?" You stare at him. "You knew??" His smirk is answer enough. And you thought you were unseen, so proud of it... "Why haven't you stop me earlier?", you ask tonelessly. "Pure curiosity. What would a pretty little thief like you want from us..." He waves towards the targets. "Back to work!" He leaves the practice area.

You watch him walk away. _Pretty thief..?_

After you found out that the Woodelves knew about your "greatest heist" you become moody. The change of weather doesn't help. Strong cold winds and rain fronts command the sky and the work outdoors is not as comfortable as it was before. The Elves don't mind but you do, a lot. They sing beautiful songs about the grey clouds, you soak through. You can be found often in the kitchen, warming up by the fires, sipping a cup of heated wine. Thoughts of escape become seldom.

Your duties expand and it lightens your spirit. The stablemaster, another gorgeous Elf with an unusual strong sense for the animals, introduces you to your new tasks around the horses and the great elk. You feed them, clean their stalls, from time to time you get to ride them. 

In the evening you enter the elk's box silently. "Hello Sweetie..." You smile as he approaches you, sniffing your hand, blinking with intelligent dark eyes. The elk is no ordinary animal, strong and big, trained to ride to battle. To ride the King into battle. You stroke his snout, chuckle when the elk's tongue tickle your hand. "Don't worry, I have it..." You pull out a small apple from your pocket, which you've snitched from one of the dinner tables. Can't let those talents go to waste, can you? Elk nibbles the fruit happily, you scratch him behind his big ears. Quiet moments you...

"So it is you spoiling him." You don't have to turn to know that the words come from Thranduil, his voice unmistakable. You continue stroking the elk. "Someone has to", you throw him a glance, "you clearly don't." He smiles, comes closer and retrieves an apple from the folds of his sumptuous robe. You are not sure if you want to punch his perfect jawline or ... do more pleasurable things. You watch him feed his elk, endearing how he whispers Elven words into the furry ears. 

"What are you saying to him?", you ask. "I tell him stories about his father. Journeys we made, places we've seen," he strokes slowly over the elk's neck, "wars we fought." You step up to the animal's other side, hands wandering through the soft fur. Distance and memories paint Thranduil's face.

"What happened to him?" His grey-blue eyes settle on yours. "He fell during the Battle of Five Armies." You stop your movement, don't know what to say as it clearly hurts the Elvenking. "I am sorry", you simply say. "Many were lost that day", his voice is stripped of the usual sneer. He sighs. "Well, his son shows promise." You smile comforting. "You will go on new adventures together, I am sure about that." The elk nuzzles your ear, making you giggle silently.

"You are kind with animals." - "Are those nice words? Coming from you??", you ask unbelievingly. His lips curl into a smile, a real one, no smirk, no irony, just a beautiful smile. "You must be gravely mistaken." Warmth pools in your womb as you look at him. 

"Well..." Thranduil pats his elk a last couple of times. "It is late. Good night." - "Good night", you answer softly. He heads towards the stabledoors only to return after a couple of steps. You raise your brows wondering, heart speeding up inexplicably.

"Just one thing", Thranduil says seriously, "...you should really do something about your hair."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I try to be as accurate as possible with the Elves and their essence but I have to admit that I am not that fluent with the Silmarillon. So please don't hack my head off if there may be some irregularity. 
> 
> And well, writer's freedom, lolz.
> 
> For the Sindarin (Elvish) I use an online translator.


	3. Elves on Snow and Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter comes over Mirkwood, cold and dark, but there are bright moments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And sexy moments.

Snow covers the woods. The training grounds, gardens and stables are powdered with white cold, the river bears floating ice sheets. 

You watch the snowflakes slowly sailing in the wind from your room. 

"It got long pretty quick." You smile, throw a glance over your shoulder to Tauriel, braiding your hair. "Not as long as yours." She laughs. "Well, if you let it grow for centuries..." - "I don't have that much time." She smooths a rebellious strand. 

"There you go", she says looking over you, "now you look like an ordinary Silvan Elf!" You snort amused. "And like a proper Silvan Elf I'll go to serve. I'll catch you later!" You grab your heavy coat, adorned with wolf fur to keep you warm in the harsh winter of Mirkwood. 

Where the rain and winds of late autumn were annoying but managable, the icecold and snow in Winter is an awful obstacle in your daily routine. You pull a scarf over your mouth and step out into the merciless chill. The snow lays high, up to your waist, you fight every step against the white, draining you of warmth and energy. Some Elves joyfully pass you, stepping light footed on the snow mantle. You have never cursed them so much, bloody knife ears can all go to hell with their Elven trickster magic. You feel wet ice in your neck, you wipe it and look around angrily. 

"Írphen!"

The handsome Silvan looks down on you, boyish grin on his lips, amusing himself way too much while dropping clumps of snow in your collar. "Hurry up, Y/N. Don't want to do all the work by myelf." You glare at him, should really wipe his smug face into the snow, but your supposedly friend hastens away as if he has read your thought. You grumble, wading until you finally break through to the stables, wet, cold and already exhausted. And your day just begins. The stable master purses his lips and shakes his head.

"Can't go on like this. At least not now." - "But...", your protest is quietened by a simple gesture. "You can come back in Spring. Go inside and get some other work. There's a lot to do before the feast." You let your head hang sadly. He smiles kindly. "Don't worry, all the horses and our elk friend will wait for you here." He is right. Doesn't make much sense to fight everyday through new thick layers just to get to the stables or the training ground. You bid farewell and do as he said. 

The day goes by quickly, You run numerous errands throughout the vast caverns of the Elvenpalace, from the kitchen Elves to the store rooms, from Captains to guard squads and many more. You pass the curved railless pathways swiftly, knowing almost every spot by now. One of your errands is to bring the King new wine, an errand which is handed down to you by several other Silvan servants who doesn't want to do it. How hard could it be?

You've never been to the Royal chambers of the King, so this is a new area of the palace for you. You wonder if the treasury is near, your thief instinct kicking in, you were not able to locate it. You take the first three steps down the spiraled stairway that leads to Thranduil's bed chamber and stop. Should you announce your presence?

Thranduil makes the decision for you. "I know you're there."

You grasp the carafe with wine tighter and descend.

"Look at this", he says without any greetings. He is wrapped in the most precious beautiful cloth, walks in front of you a few times. He stops and looks at you.

"So?" You stare at him. _So?_

"It is... lovely?"

Thranduil nods, takes the fabric of his shoulders to throw it carelessly over a backrest. He takes another gigantic piece to wrap around himself. He turns to you. "And this?" The cloth is gorgeous, silver with tiny detailled embroidery, on the inside it is of luminous coppery orange, a great contrast. As he parades up and down the chamber he seems to be engulfed by liquid metall. Never has the world seen such a King.

He rises his thick brows expectantly. "Breathtaking", you gulp, "bold." _Like you._ You bite on your tongue to keep the last words inside.

Thranduil points to the table, the light shimmers magically on the fabric of his magnificent robe. You place the wine on the table, wondering if you should pour some. But you're no cupbearer.

"I can never decide what to wear to the feast."

You turn around to glance attentively at the King, who's occupied with arranging his robes. 

He looks up. "What are you still doing here?" - "I..." - "Go." 

You nod stiffly and leave. What a prick. But a very attractive prick.

Thranduil looks after you as you ascend the stairs. What an unobservant pilferer. But with a very nice ass... 

On the longest night of the year, all gathered clothed in white and silver robes, sparkling and shimmering in the pale light of the moon. The King, leading the parade of Woodelves, stands out with his opulent silver orange robe, his crown, bare of all leaves has small white gems in it, like frozen drops of ice. You follow the slow walk, small candle in hand, part of something that is so much greater than you and so much greater than all these Elves, a magical feast to honour the light of the nightsky. The Elves raise their angelic voices on an unheard signal.

_Sing all ye joyful, now sing all together!_

_The wind's in the tree-top, the wind's in the heather;_

_The stars are in blossom, the moon is in flower,_

_And bright are the windows of Night in her tower._

You close your eyes, the words resonate in your heart, revealing their meaning, you wish you could join them in their overwordly chant. 

And when the King steps on the pedestal, opening his arms, he is bathed in moonlight, in their light of their most beloved star Eärendil, patterns on walls and floor lit up, illuminating everything in soft shimmering blue and white. _Moonrunes?_ You watch the spectacle of lights and can't believe you are here to witness it. What a night to be alive...

After the ceremonial festivities the Woodelves and you retreat to one of the greatest halls in the palace. Servants such as you take up their tasks again, bringing and serving greatest delicacies from the kitchens, pouring countless of bottles of finest wine. The music is hushed, silent pleasant tunes in the background. Your glance wander through the room and your mind slips away over your menial dull assignment, you are incredibly bored. The feasts you were part of were so different, loud music, tumbling dances, noisy people, a lot of laughter. Those Elves have no idea how to party.

"You're enjoying yourself?" You turn to see your valet friend Írphen. "I didn't imagine it to be so stiff. I thought it would be funnier. Or at least livelier", you admit. He smirks mysteriously. "Just keep the wine flowing and you'll see..." He holds his cup to you, you pour it full. "Exactly like that...", he winks at you. "How come you don't work tonight?" Írphen shrugs. "I have my ways." He bends down to you. "Come see me after the feast, hm?" He winks again and departs. You roll your eyes. As if you have time for his rubbish later when you will be most likely busy with the cleanup. 

You would never say that to Írphen but you have to say, that he was right. The more wine disappears in the thirsty throats of the Woodelves, and that is a lot, the merrier they become. It becomes harder to fill all the cups, especially when the strong beverage starts to unfold its impact. Elves singing Hobbit songs, dancing on tables to it, roaring laughter, their usual grace vanishes as they scatter tumbling and snickering throughout the palace. If someone would have told you that you would see an Elf slipping in a small puddle of wine on the floor you would have laughed in his face. Now you help up that particular Elf, trying to contain your laughter. What a difference a few drops of wine make, or rather a whole wine cellar. 

On your way from the storage with another full decanter you see an exquisite piece of fabric on the floor. You near to it, recognizing it right away: The King's outstanding mantle. You pick it up and follow the long cloth, it leads you to a smaller room, occupied by several Elves sleeping with their heads on the tables and the owner himself. Thranduil looks up when you enter and seems to notice just now that he has lost his robe. He stands up and strides towards you, swaying, spilling wine from the cup he's holding in his hand. Ridiculously charming, even now.

"Ah yes. I was looking for that!" His words are loud and overly articulated. You come closer, place the carafe on the table and drape the robe over a chair. 

"How many glasses did you have?", you ask as you try to wring the cup out of Thranduil's grasp, all boundaries thrown overboard. The King giggles. "Bottles." - "What?!" He throws an arm over your shoulders, drawing you in. "Have you ever tried Elven wine, hm?" - "Not much." He ignores you and continues babbling. "We Woodelves make the best wine, oh yes, we do." He snickers, leans over you, his weight baers you down.

"You should try it", he whispers, drinks from his cup and crashes his lips on yours. The liquid flows from his mouth in yours, most of it down your chin, you're petrified as the Elvenking licks his way into your mouth, yet you open it for his intrusion more than willingly.

He releases you, brows frown as he rubs his nose against yours, down your jaw, he mumbles against your skin. "You're so soft, mmh, soft. Humans are soft. And weak. Weak soft human." He must have drunk every single drop of the wine storage by himself to be so out of control. The grand King of Mirkwood, tipsy! You feel like caught in an absurd dream, trapped between the wall and Thranduil's arms, his lips brushing your ear as he slurs Elvish words into it. You look at him, his greyblue eyes sparkling roguish, the slightest of blushes on his high cheeks. _Oh Valar, he is indescribable covetable..._

Maybe an opportunity which will never return. An opportunity of a lifetime. 

You take him by surprise, wrapping your arms around his neck to press your mouth on welcoming lips and the world cease to exist. There is only you, that beautiful creature before you and his tongue in your mouth.

_Oh._

_By._

_All._

_Valar._

The way he tastes, the way he smells, you're overwhelmed in all senses, delighted moanes stuck in your throat. He breaks the kiss, drags his lips over soft skin to you ear, tender whispers. " _Lichieth (Sweet One)_ ..."

You catch his tongue again, fingers between satin strands, you press yourself against his tall strong body, as close as possible. If you could kiss this Elvenking for the rest of your life, you would gladly accept that wonderful fate. 

The King.

You rip your eyes open, every detail of stunning Thranduil burns into your brain, Thranduil, _THE KING._ Panic rises in your guts, you struggle out of his firm grasp, too intimidated now to just push him back. His eyes show mild surprise that the sweet feeling is gone, but boozed minds are slow. You take your heels as quick as possible.

His drunk laughter follows you as you flee the scene.

You don't stop until you brought several floors between you and that wretched room. Your heart drumms in your chest, so fast, blood rushes in the ears, you lean on a wooden pillar, breath slowly returning and with that realisation. Your hand trembles as you wipe your swollen lips, still tingling from the sweet hot sensation of the King's kiss.

"Y/N."

You look up to Tauriel, she needs only one glance in your eyes.

"Thranduil?" You nod.

"Did he... hurt you?" She comes closer, lays a hand gently on your shoulder. You shake your head, still unable to form words.

"The King is fetching, isn't he? Don't let him consume you." - "How am I supposed to do that?? He... assaulted me, completely drunk!", you flare up. "But you enjoyed it", the everknowing redhead remarks. "Have you _seen_ him?! Of course I enjoyed it!", you shout. You crouch down on the floor, groaning frustrated, conveniently keeping silent about how much initative you actually took in the whole situation. 

The only thing you hear about the feast of light afterwards is how enjoyable it was. Everyone loved it and had the greatest time. Although still Winter they make already plans to plant grapes for a whole new badge of wine as their storage took huge losses. The King never mentions anything to you, not a single word, you are cautious and shy in his presence. It takes weeks until you can look in his eyes again. 

He bends you, your breasts pointing upwards, back curved to sustain his wish. He gropes you harshly, tugs at your hair, you moan lowly. He presses against you, his cock hard through his robes. "You just don't care, do you? You don't mind all of them watching as long as I indulge your animalistic needs", he bites your ear, his fingers rub your sweet spot, rub small quick circles, you tremble in his grip, "as long as your King fucks you..."

You whimper in acknowledgement, you need him to ravish you, fuck those elves around you, when the King is in the room, you have only eyes for him after all.

"Come for me!", he barks, "come for your King!"

You whine pathetically, you are so close, prying eyes of the other Elves on you, they whisper in each other's ears, pointing at you, Thranduil glides his long fingers in you, thumb on your pearl, moves as precise as on the training ground. You pant for air, his voice deep and rich in your head, you can't hold it. 

"My King... my King...", you whisper repeatedly, when you're there, you scream.

" _ARAN NÎN!_ "

You wake up, heart racing violently in your ears. The sheets sweaty and you, wet between your legs and so... You cover yourself with shaky hands, trying to process what happened in that dream. Your fingers wander by themselves between your thighs, you shudder from arousal. You did not come in dreams and your body seeks release. And so you give in.

When you finally reach the top, Thranduil's name escapes your lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song the Woodelves sing is an Elven lullaby, you can find it complete in "The Hobbit", page 343, HarperCollins edition. In the book it is sung by the Elves of Rivendell. I would have loved to give it to you in Sindarin, but I couldn't find it.


	4. Moon and Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Come for a walk.

The snow melts, the river rises to a mighty torrent, its loud swoosh audible in almost every place. The snowstorms make place for the sun, its rays bearing warmth already. After being more or less confined inside it is a joy to work outside again. You are several months in the Elvenking's Halls and you haven't think of an escape for long now. Is it still punishment? You don't feel punished when you roam the vast palace, when you talk and laugh with others, when you watch the King silently as he follows the daily business of a leader. You are alright.

Mirkwood, once known as the Great Greenwood, becomes gloomier, the Captain and his guards must fight off spiders and other monstrosities in increasing frequencies. There is talk of Orcs too and the old fortress Dol Gundur in the South. You don't know many details as you're naturally not invited to any assembly the Woodelves hold. Darkness grips your heart whenever you watch the spring awakening forest. An uneasiness that mirrors on your face. One doesn't have to be as attentive as the Elvenking to read your mind.

"Not everything in the woods is dark and deadly", he says, pausing next to you on his round through his realm. "The guards say otherwise." - "You only have to look and you'll see all the life and light Mirkwood still offers." You throw him a sceptical glance.

"Look." He points to the forest.  
You look... at trees. That's it. Just trees. You sigh. "I can't see anything."

Thranduil's prominent brows furrow, he steps behind you, guiding your head with gentle hands, his voice a hushed deep tone in the ear.

"Look. Don't you see majestic trees, the woods, their crowns homes for rainbow birds? See the elks and deers and rabbits, lavishing the green lush grass of the ground, The bushes full of buzzy life, bees and butterflies searching lavishing flowers, spiders with silken nets", he stops for a moment, "beautiful life and peace."

You turn your head, Thranduil is so close, just a small move and you could brush your lips against his, his calm breath hits your face and you are mesmerised by his unblinking bluegrey stare. His eyes wander to your mouth, you open it slightly in anticipation, he swallows...

"I don't see it", you whisper. "I do...", he says just as quietly. You are not sure if he is still talking about the forest.

Thranduil clears his throat, such human sound for the Elvenking, and he steps back which seems to cost him a great deal of will power to do so. He breaths deeply, turns away. "Continue your work. Those foals are not taken care of by themselves." He doesn't wait for an answer, strides away, his hair shining in the sun.

Spring has brought a lot of work to the stables. Several mares has given birth to offspring and Elves start the training of their horses at a very young age, to imprint them to their riders. You are just happy that every foal is healthy and in good spirit. It is a joyful task, but the young animals are a handful and at the end of each day you're glad to find rest in your chamber. 

In the late evening you're on your way to your room to retreat for the night, looking forward to stretching your limbs, when another servant jogs up to you.

"The King demands you to prepare his beast for a ride." You look at the Elf unbelievingly. It is dark outside. "Now?", you make sure. "At once." He leaves you. You sigh. So much for your early sleep. You throw your mantle over your shoulders again and hurry back to the stables. Better not to keep a King waiting. One like this in particular.

You greet the Elk, he steps forward, sniffing your robe on search for treats. Of course you have one on you, giving him a small piece of carrot. He munches and watches you preparing his harness and saddle. You close the clasps of the straps on his stomach, when you straighten up again, you startle, Thranduil stands in the entrance, staring at you, unblinking as always. Damn his ability to sneak up on basically everything, but especially you! You close the last clasp of the heavy saddle, pull on the belt to check if it's secure. Can't risk the King falling off due to your lazy work, although it would be hilarious. You bite on the inside of your cheek to bann those pictures from your mind and step away from the Elk. 

The King nods and takes the animal's bridle to lead it outside of the stablebuilding. You follow them, waiting patiently for being dismissed. Maybe you'll have to stay awake to take care of the Elk when they return. Thranduil mounts him with ease. What majestic sight he presents sitting on the beast, dark crimson cloak outspread behind him, the bare crown on a proudly straightened head. He could command an army just like that. And you could watch him forever. 

"Will you accompany me?"

He doesn't look at you when you glance up to him surprised. You open your mouth and close it, trying to think about it, but the answer is pretty clear.

"Yes."

The idea to offer you a ride or take another mount does not occur to the King. Fortunately he doesn't ride fast, so you can walk easily at the side of his massive Elk. You stay close, watching the dark woods intently. An animal's loud cry makes you jump. "Isn't it dangerous in the forest? Specifically at night?" - "You're perfectly safe with me." That doesn't assure you. You have no idea where you're going, the black trees and shadows are all the same to you, but Thranduil seems to know the way. 

The bushes and trees thin out, you can breath easier and finally step behind the King onto a small clearing. It is as if stepping into another world. Soft grass under your feet, night flowers everywhere, their bloom reflecting the moonlight, almost glowing. A gentle breeze ripples the surface of a clear lake fed from somewhere beyond a few rocks at its north side, you hear the quiet gurgling of the tiny stream. It is a place of beauty and peace. You feel safe, there is no danger here.

Thranduil dismounts his Elk elegantly, takes him by his bridle and binds him to a tree, giving him enough space to nibble on the fresh grass. He comes closer. "So?" 

You smile. "A wonderful place. I didn't know places like this still existed here", you look at him, "but why are we here?" - "Because of this." The King stoops down and plucks one of the white flowers. He offers it to you, you take it. "For my crown. Spring is upon us." You look down at the small flower in your hands, incredibly aware of the fact that you are alone with the Elvenking and far away from any restriction that might occur in the palace. You have to know...

"Is that the only reason?"

\- "No."

Hope spreads in your guts like wildfire. Thranduil stretches his hand out, hesitates, but finally lays it on your cheek, gently stroking with his thumb. He continues down your neck, other hand joining, stroking down your arms, placing them on your hips. One small step forward, slight move of his head, he's going to...

"Wait."

He halts, question in his eyes. You stretch up to him, removing the wooden crown from his head and setting it down carefully, in a place where it wouldn't be in any way. You want the Elf beneath it, nothing more. Even without, Thranduil's splendour leaves you short-winded. You don't know if he understands the significance of this small act and at this point you don't care. He has waited enough, his long fingers grab your hips firmer, keeping you in place, when he kisses you.

Everything is as the kiss you shared in his drunken state weeks ago and everything about it is different as well. It is chaste, at first, exploring, proving that this is the path you both want to follow. 

Your eyes close, fingers follow his jawline, inside his collar beneath the blond curtain of his hair. Thranduil kisses like no man before him. Maybe because he is no mere _man_. He takes over, hands on the small of your back, grazing the round of your butt and drawing you closer. With that your kiss grows fiercer, tongues get involved sweetly, wet rubbing, just slow indulging into each other. 

He drags your mantle over your shoulders, trailing kisses over your chin down to the neckline of your robes, licks softly over your throat. Heat rises in your body just as your desire for Thranduil. Dreams alone could not satisfy you and didn't come close to the real deal before you. When he tries to open the fastenings of your vestment, you seize his hands to stop him once again. He looks at you, you grin smugly. You have a better idea. 

The wind brushes over your warm cheeks, you take a few steps back and slip out of your boots, your fingers are fast and steady as you undress. More and more of your clothes land on the grass floor. You throw a glance to Thranduil before you unclothe your undergarments, he watches you intently, eyes roaming over every new revealed part of your body. His lips curl into a well-pleased smile when you stand naked under the light of the stars.

You definitely have not intended to do it but this wonderful clear lake is predestined to bathe in it. A pleasant shiver rans down your spine when you dip your toes in cool water. Fortunately it is not as cold as you have feared, it is quite manageable. You pluck up courage, take a deep breath and step further into the lake. The water is not too deep, you would need to kneel to submerge, so you fill your hands with crystalline water and pour it over your breasts and shoulders. Goosebumps appear on your body, your nipples errect from the coldness, it is exhilarant and all under the watchful eyes of the Elvenking.

You look over your shoulder, your challenging glance meet the King's. Under the moonlight, that glints in hundreds of drops on your skin, bathes you in its shine, you are as beautiful as every Elven maid.

Thranduil opens his robes, slowly, like the teasing prick he is. The wait though is worth everything on Middle Earth when you finally see a patch of his skin. He is pale as expected, his vesture slides to the ground revealing his bare chest, broad shoulders dusted with freckles, you want nothing more than count them and if it is the last thing you do. You have other plans for his delightfully rosy nipples. It is faster with his pants, he takes his time nonetheless, such long strong legs, no shame as he reveals himself to you completely. 

Thranduil is aweinspiring, gorgeous as the moon itself, perfection in _every_ aspect.

He doesn't bat an eye when he enters the cool water, small waves emerge as he wades over to you. You watch each other, looking over every feature that is usually covered by several layers of cloth. _F_ _or fuck's sake..._ the wait is enough, you lay your arms around his neck and kiss him, sensual, longsome, his body presses against yours. You're quicker with lashing those tongues out now, fevered, the cold water around you does nothing to cool down the hot desire. 

You break apart, you're heavy breathing, even the so composed Elvenking seems heated. You swallow, fill your hands with water again, pour it over his front. Your eyes follow the wet tracks the droplets leave on his skin, over the soft curve of his chest, the muscles of his stomach and beneath. You retrace them with your fingers, going deeper, looking in his eyes when you wrap them around his cock. You want to hear Thranduil moan. You stroke slowly over his shaft, featherlight, probing what he would like. His gorgeous face reveals nothing. Your grip grows firmer, moving up and down his hard flesh, he pulls you closer to kiss you again, nibble on your lower lip. You move your hand faster, his tongue invades your mouth fiercer. He throws his arms around you, trapping cock and your hand between you charged bodies, his teeth and lips on your neck, shoulders and bossom and of course it is the Elvenking to elicit the first moan out of you. 

But your caress is not without its effects. Thranduil doesn't have to be very vocal to show his arousal. He bends down and lifts you effortlessly, water flows down your legs to drip back into the lake. With big steps he gets out of it to the pile of clothes he left on the grass, sets you down and spreads out the long velvet cloak. You lay down on the luxurious fabric, awaiting him, watching his strong tall frame, the white glimmer of the moon illuminates him extraordinary. 

You don't know how much he enjoys the view of you sprawled on his robe and he is too proud to admit how much he likes this or how often he thought about you. But now is not the time for thoughts, not with you so sweet and willing. The King lies down on you, you spread your legs for him, sensing him everywhere. He is so smooth, soft like a young man, he props up on his arms, looking over you as if to decide where to place his lips next. It doesn't matter, you draw him down, kiss him determined, rub yourself against him. 

Thranduil lets you control this only for short, seizing it again swiftly. He pecks down your neck, the round of your bosson to one of your stiff nipples, he sucks it in, bites, the sharp brief pain mixes with the silk tickling of his long hair, you're getting wetter and needier. The King licks your other breast without haste, hand sneaking over your stomach, deeper, finally reaching your pussy. Thranduil's slender fingers slip easily through your moist folds, inside, first one, then two, gliding in and out, you press yourself into his hand, mewling when he lays his thumb on your pearl. He watches every change on your face, delight paints your visage. 

You want more.

The King comes up again, retreats his fingers, pinning you down with his weight. His cock grinds between your thighs, you look in each others eyes. There is no need for words. You both know what comes next.

He finds entrance naturally and pushes in. Engulfed by your moist warmth, he sighs softly. You smile. _Finally..._ His hips move, slow at first, pace quickening, his thrusts become stronger. Whenever you look at him, his eyes are on you, never waning, you wrap arms and legs around him, eyes screw shut, drawing him close and deep, _oh my, right there,_ he knows exactly where.

You moan beautifully, you gasp when he jabs your sensitive spot again and again., pressure builds in your womb, spreading to toes and fingertips. Another sigh from the King, you open your eyes and only see radiance.

His whole being _glows_ , reveals his true Elven glory, golden light all around you, almost blending you. The light of the Eldar swallows you whole, you can't take it anymore, the desire overwhelms you, you give in, so much pleasure, release so close, one last push... and everything is light and ease.

Your heavy breaths break the silence of the glade, you open your eyes with some difficulties, tired and satisfied as you are. You glance at Thranduil, back to his usual self, the shine gone. He doesn't seem weary at all, ever the full of energy Elf, he glides out carefully, stroking your cheek tenderly when you flinch from the oversensitive feeling. He steps to his clothes, pulls out a fine handkerchief. You watch him as he plunges it in the lake and returns to you. He kneels between your legs and wipes you clean from your juices and his semen, a gesture you would have never expected from this King. 

After washing himself quickly, he lies down next to you, arms behind his head, eyes on the star-spangled sky. Wind blows over your heated skin, you shiver and search the warmth of the Elvenking. He lays an arm around you, holds you close. You watch his beautiful face under the starlight until fatigue overpowers you and you slip into well deserved sleep.

The rustling of leaves wakes you up. You look around still half asleep, wrapped in Thranduil's crimson cloak. Sun warms your face, glitters on the water of the lake. No sign of the King or his Elk. A small troop of guards breaks through the trees onto the clearing, surounding you swiftly, spears pointed your way.

"You won't escape, thief!"

_...what?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lee Pace who gave us this incredible rendition of the Elvenking in the movies has freckles. I find that very endearing and that's why Thranduil has some too.  
> And I just love freckles.
> 
> Don't be shy and leave a comment :)


	5. Dungeon Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the night in the forest.

It is a dream. Must be. You're still cuddled up in Thranduil's arms and you'll wake up soon, preferably by his sweet kisses. You definitely don't walk in front of a group of guards practically poking you with spears through the woods, only wrapped in his precious robes _they completely ignored the heap of your own clothes_ , listening to their comments.

"Can't believe she tried to escape again."

"And after so long!"

" _AND_ with the King's cloak! Naked!"

"Yeah, not only a thief, also a pervert!"

You can pretend you don't care about what they say but you can't hide your hotred ears and the birds chirping cheerfully in the forest, flooded by sunlight, just seem to mock you too. The way back to the palace seems twice as long as the night before. What happened? Where is the King? Questions whirl in your mind. It can't be coincidence that the guards found you in that place, can it? You keep your mouth shut about the night. You can't just spill the beans. They wouldn't believe you probably. The King of the Woodland Realm - with you?! A lowly mortal? It sounds preposterous, even if it is the truth. You almost can't believe it yourself. You wrap the soft cloak tighter around you. A sweet reminder of the night's pleasures with him. 

The guards bring you straight to the dungeon. Haven't been here for some time. You've gotten even in your old cell. How long will you be here? And this time innocent. 

The day goes by slowly. Once you get water and food, nothing more. You cannot do much else than think and maybe that is the purpose why you are even here. 

Later, you suppose it is night or at least evening, Tauriel approaches your cell. You jump up hopefully. 

"Y/N, I just heard!" - "Can you get me out?" You look over your friend, searching for a key. The She-Elf shakes her head. "No, I can't, I am sorry. I just came back from a patrol when the servants told me that you tried to escape and we caught you again." 

"Tauriel, that is all wrong!" - "What was it then? Why were you..."

"I was en-route with the King! He wanted to pick flowers for his crown." She looks completely puzzled. "Why would the King take you with him? He never does that, not since..." You interrupt her, just babbling without a second thought. 

"He showed me a lake, sparkling in the moonlight. And there were the flowers but he didn't pick them, he... we bathe, we...", you stop, your gaze falls and heat creeps from your bossom to your face as you recall the events of the night, his touch, those soft lips, his face when...

"You... what?", Tauriel nears the closed bars. 

Oh can't she really think what you two did?!

"We fucked, alright?", you press out. Her eyes grow big, clearly appalled by your blunt choice of words, disbelief appears on her face.

"The King...?" - "Yes."

"And you...?" - "Yes."

"You two...?" - "Yes!"

Tauriel stares at you. "And now you're here."

Your view falls again. "Yes. I don't know why. Isn't... _intimacy_ a really big deal for Elves?" 

She nods slowly. "It is. Very, very important. We only _ah_ share this with someone of greatest meaning. Usually Elves don't have more than one mate." You know Thranduil had a wife, who died tragically in a fight in Angmar.

Your fingers wrap around the bars. "What does that mean, Tauriel?" - "You'll have to ask him yourself, I'm afraid." She lays her hand on yours, squeezing it softly. 

"Thank you", you answer quietly.

"Was it fun?" Tauriel presses her hand on her mouth, the question just slipped out. You have to giggle, this is so... girly. You like it.

"It was incredible. He _glowed!_ " - " _I galad o i Eldar! (The light of the Eldar!)_ ", Tauriel whispers, "...he must have been very... excited."

You look at each other and burst into laughter. "I think he was", you sit down on the ground by the cellgate, "I hope at least." She smiles. "We don't do that in jest." Your heart makes a small joyful hop when you hear this. So it _was_ something special. 

"How come you are not taken?", you ask your friend, "I thought Elves marry pretty young." - "I am still pretty young, considering." You raise one brow sceptically. "Well, not compared to your lifespan", she admits. "No one ever piqued your interest?"

"There was one..", she says wistfully, "but it wasn't meant to be." - "Why?", you ask carefully. "He died. At the Battle of Five Armies." 

"I... I am sorry." - "You didn't know."

You keep silent for a while, then you speak up again.

"What was his name?" - "Kili." 

"Huh...", you wonder, "a strange name for an Elf." She turns to you, face unreadable. "Yeah, it would be, right?" You blink, confused. A piece of this sad story seems missing, but you feel that you should not pry. If Tauriel wants to tell you more, she will, on her own terms. 

You sigh. "Well, I hope everything clears up tomorrow."

She smiles at you confidently. "Don't worry, my friend, I am sure there is an explanation for all of this."

There isn't.

The next morning you are brought before the King, as usual gorgeously dressed up, on his head the twig-crown, adorned with green leaves and white small flowers. So he took them... 

He watches you, face emotionless.

"Escape is pointless. Let this be the last time", he says in a bored tone. 

You stare at him. It's a joke. It has to be. He's joking. 

He doesn't say more.

"That's it?", you ask incredulously. 

"Yes."

"That's it?!", you ask louder, fury rises in you and burns in your eyes, distorts your face. You don't want to explode in front of the guards, especially with such delicate matter.

Thranduil seems to anticipate that outcome and sends them out. 

"What is going on here?", you ask as soon as you're sure the guards are out of earshot.

The King looks over his rings. "I don't know what you mean."

"We... spent a night together", you chose less brusque words than with Tauriel, "and then I am thrown in the dungeon for an escape attempt! Coincidence?" 

"If you are implying that I sent them after you, then you're wrong." - "Then why didn't you tell them to set me free?!" He rolls his eyes. "I have more important things on my mind, you know?" _Ouch, what a stab._

You can't believe your next sentence. "I thought I was on your mind too."

He just stares at you, a hint of pity in his eyes. You draw your own conclusion.

You gulp. "I thought..." _...it meant something more to you._ You don't say it. It doesn't matter what you thought. Something isn't right, you can feel it. You remember Tauriel's words. She wouldn't lie to you. If Thranduil wants to play things like this, he can have it. Two can play this game and you're no stranger to casual sex. You're trying to convince yourself that this would be alright. Maybe it takes a bit of time. And right now you really just want to get out, take your mind off this whole mess. 

You step away wordlessly to leave the throne room.

"You forgot something." 

You turn back to him, your anger flaring up again. "What!?", you hiss. He stares at you blankly, you crumble after seconds. Curse his unearthly allurement! You bow shortly, a murmured "My King" on your tongue. Thranduil's lips curl into a loathing smile, you hate it, you hate it that you love it so much, he comes down the steps, closing in to you. Your heart beats faster, what is this now?

He is so close, his bright eyes lick over your body. He bends over, long fingers graze your curves, he grabs his dark robe to pull it off with one smooth move. You stand naked before him, he smiles again.

"That is mine. Thank you." He returns to his throne, making a dismissive gesture. "You can go."

Your heart skips a beat, you open your mouth and close it several times, the surprise and shock too big. Thranduil is already occupied with some papers, ignoring you completely. He cannot be serious! You clench your fists, the amount of will you have to expend to not jump in his beautiful face is sheer impossible.

The King looks up, feigning curiosity. "Was there something else?"

The smile you offer him is forced, you can barely contain your anger. "No, my King."

You turn on your heels, stiff but proudly straight striding, you won't give him the satisfaction to see how uncomfortable you are to return to your quarters uncovered. 

You cannot hear Thranduil's deep sigh when you're gone.

The way to your room takes forever. Of course you meet a ton of Elves, as if someone has told them to keep an eye out for you. You hear jokes, see pity and reject all offers of robes, too proud for this. When you finally arrive, you fall on the bed, wrap yourself in the blanket. 

You're shivering from anger, tears well up and you blink them away furiously. You press your face in your cushion and scream your lungs out.

That bastard.

Let him see what you're made of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy! Please tell me what you think <3


	6. Pranks and Feasts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revenge is sweet, right? There are some things even sweeter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy and tell me what you think :)

There is no mention of the incident again and you definitely don't want to bring it up by yourself. You notice a slight change in the other Woodelves' behaviour, you're seldomly alone at your tasks and you are straight out not allowed to enter the forest on your own. You have taken up the work at the stables again and you still do tasks in the palace. 

You humm to yourself as you balance the tray on your arms, you descend the spiral staircase and find yourself in the King's chambers. The beautiful Elf sits at his table, head propped on his hand, with the other he writes something on a piece of paper. You clear your throat to announce you're there.

"I heard you from far away. You're making enough noise for an Oliphant herd." You don't answer that. "I bring you dinner, my Lord." You set down the tray on the table and pour water in the cup before leaving.

"Wait." You stop and look back at him. "What the hell is this?", Thranduil points to the plate, full of scraps and stale bread.

You give him your cutest smile. "That's dinner, my King." He watches you, pushes the tray towards you. "Take this away and bring me dinner", he says insistently. "But this _is_ your dinner", you act innocently. He blinks, confused, and pouts. Holy Valar, how adorable he is. Gorgeous and so enchanting. "Tell another servant to bring it!", Thranduil orders.

You grin. "Oh I am so _so_ sorry but unfortunately everyone is very occupied." - "With what?!" - "I think your garments fell in the river. A tragedy!", you throw your arms in the air theatrically, "it took ages to fish them all out!" He stands up, closes in to you, before you can step back, he grabs your chin rudely, his eyes drill in yours.

"Watch it.." His voice flows down your spine like sirup. You jerk your head away from his grasp and leave the room.

The same week Thranduil strides into the stable, offering no greeting. "Prepare my beast, I am going on a ride."

The stable servants exchange glances. Thranduil's brows frown dangerously. "Was I unclear?" - "My Lord, your Elk is out, with the other mounts." The King's eyes restrict to slits. Nobody wants him to look at them like _that_. "What do you mean... _out?!_ "

The servants fall on their knees fastly. "My King, he is with the horses, at practice, as you ordered!" - "Who?" - "What..?"

"WHO?!", the Elvenking barks. - "It's Y/N. She said you ordered..." Thranduil interrupts them harshly: "I never ordered such a thing!" No answer from his servants, shivering on the floor. He clenches his hands to fists. "Nobody rides my Elk! NOBODY!" He rushes out, his cloak waving behind him. 

What you're doing is children's stuff, stupid little pranks, annoying for the King and double work for you servants. But to see him clench his teeth, uneasy jaw, the deep frown of his brows, it's worth every extra step. You wouldn't dare to do anything more or dangerous and you wouldn't want to. He is the leader of his folk after all and your heart cramps anytime you see him. But you have some pride left and it craves for revenge. So you use simple tricks, only to get on his nerves. And it works. 

At another feast Thranduil is strained and moody, thanks to your special attention. It took him some time to piece his robes together after your earlier assaults. He wants to keep an eye on you and orders you to be his cupbearer for the evening. Little does he know that this creates only more occasion for you...

You begin with pouring him water when he wants wine, when he finally gets wine, the wrong one. His frustration grows, but that doesn't prepare him for your _grande finale_. You pretend to trip, full decanter in hands, swaying towards the King. 

_Oops._

You pour it over his beautiful hair. Thranduil petrifies, a collective gasp is heard in the hall. The wine trickles into his collar, darkens the shiny blond. The look he gives you frightens you to the core but it is too late. You push your chin out. Everyone is looking at you two, shocked. _That filthy clumsy human!_ Thranduil stands up, grabs you by your wrist, so hard it hurts. He smiles to the audience, a smile reserved for crazy murderers. "Excuse me."

He strides out, you try to catch up, but you can only stumble after him. To all the Valar, what have you done?! His hair is sacred, damn it, everyone knows that! He enters his private chambers. So here you'll die. He'll probably make it long and painful. He pins you to the nearest pillar, anger burns in his eyes. _He is really furious._

"You have some nerve...", he hisses, pure poison, his face distorts, horrible scars appear, blinded eye, you blink and it's gone. Your frightened mind must play tricks on you. You don't have much time to question your eyesight, with Thranduil invading your personal space, impaling you with his unblinking enraged stare.

It is... thrilling.

Your pulse quickens, the King senses the change in the air and acts immediatly on it.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you, you little mortal shit!" You grin. "And look how this little mortal shit affects you! All big and angry!" 

"How dare you?!" - "You're cute when you're angry."

"Shut up!!" - "Make me!" 

You have anticipated his next move, have hoped for it, craved it, and he doesn't disappoint. 

The might with which he crushes his lips on yours smashes you further into the pillar, it hurts, like his kiss, bites and teeth in soft flesh, he's feral. You grab his magnificent robe by the collar to pull him further in, that insufferable bastard, he tastes fruity, _mmmh delicious_ and all that anger makes it all the sweeter. It doesn't take long until you start to remove clothes, thrown carelessly on the floor, main point is getting bare as fast as possible. You gasp when your back touches the cold stone behind you, in contrast to the King's warm hands roaming over your skin. His body flushes against yours, he licks and nibs your neck, your bossom, you grind into him, rubbing yourself on his junk, letting your juice flow in the process. 

Thranduil drives his teeth in your shoulder, mimics the moves of your hips, you stand there, clinging to the other's body, rutting against each other and maybe that would have been enough but you both starve for more. He grabs your ass, lifting you, you clutch your legs around him, his cock presses against your wet folds, oh you want him inside... 

The King walks errorlessly backwards to his vast bed, lips glued to yours, he sits down, you frame his crotch with your thighs, tongues swiping wet and sweet other lips, hot skin, his fingers bury in the pliant flesh of your butt, forcing you to open yourself more and you can't wait, you seize his cock to lead it to your moist pussy. Like last time there is only a sigh to hear from the Elvenking when you sink down on him, taking in his dick quickly, no bullshit teasing, you just _want_ him.

The feast is all but forgotten now, you care only for this, the movement of your hips, how your thighs lift and lower in a steady pace. Thranduil leans back, hands stroking over your tits, stomach, legs, like he can't keep them to himself and why should he when you're hopping up and down on his dick so nice and warm and slick. Noises of pleasure spill from your lips, your sweetspot stroked so amply, your eyes close in delight, mind flowing somewhere, _oh my..._

He removes your hand from his chest, where you've been clawing unintentionally in his flawless skin, intertwining your fingers. "You won't mark me like a wild animal." You look at him, bastard. But you can growl like one. You move quicker, moans loud and strong, steering towards release. Not long now, his hips thrust to meet you, you mewl everytime you do, the pressure too much to bear, please, come on now, just... one... more...

Your body cramps and convulses when pleasure drowns you, every sound stuck in your throat, you barely notice Thranduil's release until the numbness passes and his seed fills you to the brim. With a sigh you collapse, hot, sweaty, fulfilled.

You lay on his chest, trying to regain breath. Holy... that was some ride. He nudges you with his fingers, you look up to him reluctantly, he's fresh as always. 

"Go on." His words need a few seconds to reach your orgasm clouded brain. "...what?" 

"Continue." You swallow, move your hips and gasp. He is still hard. But he came, you felt it, the evidence very wet and very visible! How is that even... Bloody Elven magic! 

He sits up, the move causing you to shiver, he embraces you, kisses you tenderly.

"Come on, I hold you...", he whispers against your lips, no anger in his voice, only affection. You look in his icy eyes, lips so close, you slowly roll your hips, your breath shudders, so overwhelmed. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, his scent all around you, chest to chest, he cradles you both to another high, gentle and so different to the first.

You leave the cleanup to him, the aftercare, light kisses on your eyelids, the bridge of your nose as he draws you in his warm embrace, stroking your heated skin, a low Elven song makes your eyes close...

You're fast asleep, when Thranduil still combs through your hair softly, winding some strand around his long fingers. 

"Sleep well, my little light..."

"GET UP NOW!"

You wake with a start, knocking heart. _The fuck..._ you sit up, eye to eye with some guards. You pat over the other side of the bed, expectantly vacant and cold. Your nostrils swell as your breath quickens. That royal arse did not do it again, did he? 

They don't give you the courtesy of covering yourself, yanking you out of bed and once again you tap in front of them to the dungeon. This can't be true...

You sit down on the small hard bench at one side of the cell, slinging your arms around yourself. If someone would have told you how much time you would spend naked or barely covered in a dungeon you would have laughed them off. At least it is clean. Not that you know many jails to compare. You sigh and lean your head on the wall. Why doesn't he stay? All you can do now is wait. You open your eyes when you hear commotion at your cell door.

"Írphen, you're here!" Your friend looks at you through the bars. "Funny how this seems to be the place to find you lately", he smirks. "Very funny. Sitting innocently in jail", you answer begrudgingly. He snickers. What is wrong with him?! "Hardly innocent. Sleeping in the King's bed! What were you thinking?" You jump up, goaded by his words. "I didn't! I slept _with_ the King in his bed!"

Írphen's face falls. "You slept...", he stammers but he catches himself quickly, "utter nonsense! Why would our King do such a thing with a mortal servant! The very idea!" He laughs joyless. _Arse._ You wouldn't spent your energy to convince him. You sigh. "Would you mind to bring me something to wear, please?" - "Why should I?", his eyes roam over your exposed body, "I am enjoying the view." - "You son of a...!" 

"Írphen! Get away from her!"

Tauriel comes in sight, shooshing the Sylvan servant away. She opens the cellgate and strides in, a compassionate look on her pretty face. She hands you a wooly coat, you accept it gratefully and finally cover yourself. "Thank you, _mellon nîn (my friend)_." She nods. "The King wants to see you." You scoff. "Does he now... didn't want to see me after I finished riding him." Tauriel blushes at your words, these are more details about her superior she ever wanted to know. "He _is_ intrigued by you." - "But not enough to let me wake up by his side?" The ginger guard doesn't answer, a sad smile on her lips.

She leads you quickly before the throne and leaves. A small gesture by the Elvenking and the other guards are dismissed. You and Thranduil are alone. You leave him no chance to speak.

"That's the second time I was thrown in the dungeon after sleeping with you! Is it a rule? Is it some kind of kink?!" You glare at him.

"Don't you think you deserved that?", he asks infuriatingly calm. "What?!", your voice cracks, "why?!?" He looks away from you, sighing dramatically. You blink a few times, baffled, starting to get worried. Did... did you really do something to him? Maybe it is not allowed in Elven culture to have sex like that. But he seemed to enjoy himself?! Maybe you did...

His pleasant voice interrupts your hazy thoughts.

"You spilled wine over my hair."

Your head goes completely blank. 

You have no idea how long you stand there, trying to wrap your mind around that twisted reasoning, it's inapprehensible. 

"Is this what it means to be a King? Doing unreasonable things and getting away with it..?", you say lowly. Thranduil's eyes narrow. "What do you know of Kings?"

You have no answer. Of course you know nothing, him being the first King you ever met. It is not your fault that your liaison is... complicated. But it has a lot do do with his erratic behaviour. You are too tired to understand his twofaced actions, on one side the charming lover, on the other side the spoilt madman with moodswings of an ill-bred child. You exhale audibly and turn away. You stop after a few steps, you don't look at him, you can't, but your voice is loud and clear and does not falter.

"I am not a toy to play with. Do not give me hope where there is none."

Thranduil watches you go. He knows those words too well. 

You wake up in the middle of the night, startled again, but you don't know why. You look around in your room to see Thranduil standing by the window, eyes roaming over the tree tops. What is he doing here? He turns to you, you pull up the blanket instinctively but his glance is fond. He steps to the bed, sitting down on the edge, never looking away. 

"What..." - "Sshhh...", he interrupts you softly.

"But.." He lays his fingers on your lips. "You talk too much." He bends over you, brushes a kiss on your lips, deepening after a few moments. You can't but return it. He smiles, you watch him, confused, your heart hops around like mad, you just don't get it.

"I don't want to land in the dungeon again", you whisper and you can't dismiss the desperately pleading undertone in your voice. He sighs, strokes your cheek softly.

"I don't understand this. And it frightens me. When something frightens me, I put it in the dungeon. Usually it works out in the end." You could have never imagined that something could frighten the Elvenking, and even less something like you. He continues.

"But it doesn't work with you. You are still there, always coming back to my thoughts." - "We can try to figure this out. Together", you murmur gently, "but I can't help you from a dungeon cell." - "I don't want to put you there again", he trails kisses down your neck, "don't worry." You want to believe him, although you still don't understand what exactly is happening. Maybe you'll just go with it, you have nothing to lose. He got your dignity long ago, but he never acted like this before. His long hair tickles your bossom, you're warming up from his sweet touches.

"As long as you don't do anything with my hair." You stroke one of the silver blond strands behind his pointy ear tenderly. "I am sorry?", you offer. "And my robes. And my crown." You want to be mad but this is so much sweeter than anger and laughter bubbles inside your belly, you press your lips together to surpress it. "And my jewellery." You giggle, stretch up to him, you almost can't kiss him properly because of your big grin. "Anything else?", you ask amused. "My Elk, but I am sure you won't hurt him." You kiss him again. "Less talking, more kissing please...", you whisper. "You make demands of your King?!" - "Shut up already..." He smirks. "That needs punishment."

Oh, you like the sound of that.

When you wake up in the morning the side of your bed is empty. For Eru's sake... you glance around sleepily, Thranduil stands at the foot of the bed, watching you. Your heart jumps joyfully from your guts back to your chest.

"You're an awfully noisy sleeper, you know that?"


	7. The Moon of Honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil and you spend some time together and the King welcomes important guests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluuuuuuff.  
> And smut.

"Humans are most peculiar!"

You smile. "What did you find out now?" Thranduil's long fingers graze the small of your back, sweat has pooled there after he has finished his most satisfying caress. 

"You sweat so quickly!" You turn around to glance at him amused. A millenia old King, excited like a child. It warms your heart. He cups your face and presses a kiss on your smiling lips. His eyes stray to your hair. You can see the question in his face before he says anything. 

"Yes, we get gray hair." He strokes gently through yours, examining the soft strands. "You too?"

"Yes, me too." You draw him closer, kiss him with more determination. "Any more questions or are you ready for round three?", you whisper seductively.

"Actually yes! Why do you need so much rest between your orgasms?"

He doesn't anticipate the pillow in his pretty face.

After the weeks of uncertainty and incertitude, filled with your annoying coupes, the situation settles for the King and yourself. Sweetest peace and no more stays at the dungeon. Your room is mostly abandonded at night, you sleep at the King's chambers, a fact that goes uncommented by everyone else beside Tauriel. The guards must be instructed in some way, they don't bother you when they see you leaving Thranduil's rooms in barely more than your underwear. 

You see that the Elvenking tries not to be an obnoxious arsehole all the time, especially around you of course. He showers you in gifts, most you return to him shortly. When he goes for a ride you accompany him, you make tender love in the meadows of Mirkwood and try to explain the grass in your hair to the stablemaster when you're back at work.

A surprising visit from Elrond Halvelven amazes the whole palace. King Thranduil seems to be the only one not in the slightest astonished, but who knows what is written in all those letters he's reading all the time... Every Silvan servant works double to prepare a feast worthy of such a noble guest as the Lord of Rivendell. 

Of course you have heard of this famous Elf but he was always more stuff for books and legends, too far away to be reality. To see him now, sitting next to your lover seems surreal. But he's here, politely thanking you for pouring wine for him. What an Elf! So distinguished and elegant, yet so humble, _so_ different than Thranduil with his bias towards exaggerated drama. You smile at the darkhaired Elvenlord, earning yourself more than one sharp glance from Thranduil. After the festivities, when you have retreated to bed with the King, he demands your... _special attention._ And you oblige gladly.

On the next day, after the two Elvenlords return from a ride through the forest they meet in Thranduil's vast chambers. You set up wine and cups on the table, bow deeply before the Elvenlord and take your leave up the stairs. The darkhaired Elf watches you go.

"A mortal, Thranduil?", Elrond asks, "that doesn't fit you." - "So what, your daughter fell for one." The Lord of Rivendell scoffs. "We'll see about that!" Thranduil leans on the ballustrade, looking over the green tree tops, his long hair swaying in the wind. "I don't know what it is myself." He turns to his old friend. "But you surely did not come all this way from your cozy Rivendell to talk about my companion choice." Elrond's jaw stiffens. "No. That was coincdence. I came to ask your advise." One amused glance from the Elvenking is enough to unmask the other Elf. "Alright, alright", he says, throwing his hands in the air defeated, "I need you to do something." - "Now we're talking..." Elrond sighs. Why did he come here...

"Darkness breeds in the East", he says ominously. "Fortunately that's far away from Mirkwood and we are ready to defend our borders." - "We need more than just you sitting here and waiting for the Evil to take over!" Thranduil drills his finger in Elrond's chest. "Last time I fought outside of Mirkwood hundreds of Woodelves died on behalf of some greedy Dwarf! I will not make the same mistake again!" - "Thranduil! This is not one Dwarf's agenda anymore! This concerns all the races of Middleearth. Galadriel feels it. And despite your flamboyant act, I know you feel it too!" The King rolls his eyes. "So what? I am very sensitive." Elrond closes his eyes, counts silently in his mind to not strangle his old friend. He has forgotten how impossible Thranduil can be. He takes a deep breath and continues. "There are rumours, that the Ring has been found", his voice lowers, "somewhere in the Misty Mountains. We must investigate this!" - "How do we know it is true?" The Lord of Rivendell sighs. "We don't. But we have to consider the possibilty." Thranduil shrugs. "If this is so important to you, I will send some scouts to the Misty Mountains." Elrond smiles. "Thank you." He steps next to the Elvenking, watches the trees in full green bloom. 

"Have you heard from Legolas?", he asks softly. Thranduil snarls: "I got some letters."

"He is talking about you a lot." - "Of course he does, I am fabulous." Elrond flares up. "Not because of that!" Thranduil smiles sweetly. "So you think that I am fabulous?" The other Elf groans. "You are insufferable!" - "I hear that a lot." 

"He will come back soon", Elrond says, "he misses home." Thranduil's lips curl into a real smile, the first Elrond sees during his visit. "I am glad to hear that..."

The King is an incredible lover. But he isn't very spontaneous, to say the least. When you start to fondle him on his throne after begging him to let you up there he doesn't get it. "What is the fun about doing it here, where every second someone might see us?" - "That _is_ the fun! It's risky! And it is on your throne!" He still holds your hands in place, looking at you uncomprehensive, black brows frown. You sigh defeated. "Alright, alright. I give up. Let's go to your chambers and have very serious sex in your bed." You leave his lap but you can't make two steps when he pulls you back. "Wait." He looks around, eyes up his throne, you, examining his surroundings. You can see he has come to a conclusion, but none you have foreseen. He pushes you on your knees in front of him. "I think I'll enjoy it when you _serve_ me here." The way he says it, so casual, a slight order in his voice, it ignites your own lust. Oh you'll serve him well...

You kneel between his legs, quickly undoing his pants to pull out his dick. You grin up to him, bite your lower lip in sizzling anticipation. You stroke slowly over his length, bend forward under his stare to press your lips on the base of his cock. No reaction, but you got used to that. You _know_ he likes that. You nibble at the tender skin between shaft and sack, sneaky fingers fondle his balls, squeezing them gently. You lick up his cock, slow, just with the tip of your tongue, before you lay your lips on his glans, hinting a kiss, tongue darts out to taste his precum. You lick lavishly over his slit, take it finally in your wethot mouth. You take your time, glide down his cock until you can't take him anymore, you hollow your cheeks and suck. Your tongue presses against the vein at the backside of his dick, you slide up and down steadily, sharp sucking everytime you reach his glans. You grin inwardly when you feel his fingers in your hair. 

He sighs, murmurs: "Oh you are a good servant, such a good little human..." You resist the urge to bite down on him. You'll show him his good little human. You suck stronger, tongue swipes over the edge of his head, back and forth, you can read his subtle signs by now, he is close, fingers press slightly on your scalp. You continue, feel his extortion, one step to the top - and you stop, releasing him completely from your mouth. Thranduil looks at you murderously.

"Why have you stopped? Continue!", he commands. You smirk, straddle him again, press your lips harshly on his, tongue invading, giving him a good taste of his own cock. You squirm in his lap until you manage to free yourself cumbersomely from pants and undergarments. Thranduil's face loses the anger to make way for confusion. He's thousands of years old and never got fucked on the throne. A hilarious tought. 

You grab his hard cock, hold it so you can sink down on it. You're wet, it's easy, you tease him, letting his tip only brush through your lips. As much as you want to see him in increasing desperation, you want him inside of you. You drop on his shaft quickly, he groans loudly, you press your hand on his mouth to muffle it at least a bit. "Shhh...", you hush in his ear, taking its pointy tip between your lips. You remove your hand, place both on Thranduil's shoulders and start to move. The King throws his head back in pleasure, lips pressed together. It is more than satisfying to see his everlasting control slipping and on top of that, be the reason for it. 

You kiss him lecherously, tongue gliding in and out of his mouth just as his cock in you, you moan against his lips, not too loud, you are out in the most open room of the palace after all. The King grasps you firmer, moves rise in urgency. His release is within closest reach, he buries his face in your bossom, spasms take over his body when he reaches his climax and spurts his sperm out. You ride him through tenderly, almost proud to see him in a dishevelled state, clothes in disarray, strands of his silverblond hair sticking to his cheek. You stroke them fondly out of his face, pecking his lips.

Thranduil presses his forehead against yours, out of breath for once, exchanging sweet kisses. He tips your chin up to look at him. 

The King has the most serious expression on his gorgeous face. "We will repeat this!" You purr in agreement.

Spring makes place for Summer, freshest green prosper from most beautiful flowers, the mood in the palace is light, dances and feasts, wonderful warm nights under the star cladded sky. There is no talk of darkness lurking, not with you at least, and Thranduil keeps his secrets. You notice the soldiers, sent out and not returning. Where are they going? When you ask, the King deflects your questions and divert your attention to more pleasant themes and he is a master in this discipline...

"What is the most beautiful thing you ever saw?"

You roll your eyes. "Why are you asking questions when you know the answer?" - "I like it when you say it." You hold his face in place, looking deeply in his eyes. "It is you, Thranduil Oropherion. You are the most beautiful thing I ever saw." He smirks full of himself.

"Say it again!" You groan frustrated. "How often do I have to tell you?!" You push him down, spread your legs for him. "Better tell me why you're wearing your crown in bed."

He eyes you up from between your thighs, a glance that stabs you with desire. "I have the feeling sometimes you need a reminder about who is King...", he murmurs, his breath brushing your folds, before he licks over your mount.

" _Oooh..."_ , you sigh delighted, "you are, my Lord...", his tongue slips over your clit, "you are my King..." You bite your lip, arch your back in pleasure. 

"Stay still...", he says, holding your thighs down and spread before going back to pleasing you with his mouth. You follow his command more than willingly.

After he's finished with you, he takes his crown off and puts it down on the bedside table with a proud smirk. You definitely know now who's King again...

He lays beside you, spooning you, covering you with the soft blanket. You take his hands in yours, pecking them, holding them close to your heart as you slip over into deep slumber.

The Elvenking's eyes rake over your slowly waking figure, face content, mind still in sweetest dream instilled by your lover after a wonderful night.

"What are you doing when I am sleeping?", you ask drowsily, cuddling deeper in his warm embrace, not in the slightest in the mood of leaving it. You know that his rest is different than yours, more of mental nature than physical.

"I am watching you. I hold you close. I sooth you when you tremble. I shut you up when you snore." You stare at him. "What?", he asks shrugging, "it's annoying." - "Shut it!" You jump him, press him back in the bedding. He snickers, draws you in, kissing you where he can reach. You halt, look at each other, beaming.

_...I think I love you..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me a bit to get this out :3 hope you enjoy reading!


	8. Immortal Family Bonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas Greenleaf visits his home!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of talking.  
> Have fun and leave me some love! :D

It is soon announced that the Prince of Mirkwood, Legolas Greenleaf, Thranduil's only son will come back to the woods of his birth. The whole palace is pure chaos for the days before the return, even more than at the visit of Elrond Halfelven. The first time you're in the Woodland Realm you get to know how popular the Prince actually is and you wonder why you haven't heard a lot more about him before the proclamation. 

You try to keep your head clear since you have your hands full with work, there is a lot of preparation, only the finest cutlery for the highborn child, everything must be in most perfect condition and at the end of the day your feet hurt from all the messenger runs. The work also cuts your time with the Elvenking short and he is more fidgety and ludicrous than ever before. 

Every night he wants to discuss the outfits he plans to wear when his son arrives, when he will eat with him, when he will go for a walk, but oh what when they meet in between and he doesn't have the right robe... more than once you snap at him for hitting new heights of ridiculousness. In the end you are sorry for being mean to him but you are quite nervous yourself.

"Quite nervous" is a complete understatement, though. For you this visit is not just another high Elflord you only heard about in stories. It is Thranduil's child. His son. The lovechild of him and his late wife. And here you are, his human lover, a petty thief on top and now of lower rank than the Silvan servants. It seems like a cliché bedtime story, the King and the servant. You wrack your brain how you can face the Prince and how to convince him of your supposed worthiness. You are terrified by the possibility that he does not approve of you. When you tell the King about your concerns he laughs you off. 

"Legolas is a very accepting Elf and enervatingly fond of lower races _ouch_ , why are you hitting me?", he asks with purest innocence in his beautiful face when you glare at him. He lays his hand gently on your cheek, stroking your anger away. "What if he doesn't like me?", you insist meekly. "Then he'll have to live with it." - "Thranduil! You don't mean that!" He grins, kisses you. "Are you sure?", he whispers. You peck his high cheekbones. "No, and that concerns me." 

"And could you please..." You cut him off: "I will not brush your stupid moose a third time!" The shock that paints his face would be hilarious if you didn't know that he is indeed shocked to the core. He puts his arms akimbo, you see how he takes a deep breath to probably hold an hours long speech about how his Elk is not a moose and you couldn't care less. You leap to him and press your fingers on his lips to prevent the outbreak. Thranduil practically deflates, eyes full of righteous passion for his beloved animal friend. You lay your arms around his middle, pressing yourself against his strong body. "What if he doesn't like me?", you ask again lowly. Thranduil sighs, embraces you firmly. "That's impossible." He tips your face up to look at him, a benevolent smile lightens his face. "I am sure he'll love you", he brushes your forehead with a kiss, "and don't think you escape my moose monologue."

When the day finally comes you expect a great entrance, a lot of noise, the biggest entourage, just like you would estimate Thranduil's entrance at a court. It is nothing like that. Legolas Greenleaf comes out of the woods unceremonially, waving jolly laughing to the guards, leading a beautiful white horse behind him by its bridle. Servants hurry towards him to get the horse, he greets every single one. You watch his arrival with Thranduil from a balcony overlooking the gates.

The King makes a small gesture and begins his descend to the throne room where he will welcome his son. He looks incredible, stunning, his crown adorned with green leaves, summer flowers and he smells like a wildflower meadow. You wonder why he made such an effort, as if he was going to greet a king and not his own son. You have no idea how Legolas departed all those years ago and Thranduil has rarely spoken of him till now.

You stand at the bottom of the steps to the throne, kneading your hands antsily, awaiting the Prince, the King lounges in his throne. The commotion becomes louder and Legolas finally steps forward. He is a breathtakingly handsome Elf, tall and strong frame, long whiteblond hair with small braidings to keep it out of his pretty face, his blue eyes sparkle happily as he makes his way to his father. He looks at you shortly, probably wondering who you are to witness the reunion with the Elvenking, or maybe he already heard about you, just as Elrond knew. 

Thranduil steps down to meet his son halfway. They stand in front of each other, a smirk plays on their lips, you prevent your mouth from gaping, astonished how alike they look. Legolas _is_ clearly Thranduil's son.

The blond Elves lay their hands over their hearts and bow before each other.

"Legolas", Thranduil straightens up again and looks at the Prince, "you're back."

"Yes, _Ad_ _a (father)_ ", Legolas smiles.

You stand there dumbfounded. That's it? That's the maudlin reunion between father and son after being seperated for several years? No tears? Not even a hug? A weird one-armed hug?! You've learned a lot about the reserved emotions of Elves over the past few weeks but this is a new unutterable height, even for them. _Chilly pointy-eared dudes..._

Father and son turn to you as if heard your slightly unappropriate thoughts, two pairs of icy blue eyes piercing you, your heart sinks a little. You try to smile shyly. The moment is now. 

"Meet my...", Thranduil pauses awkwardly. Lover? Stableworker? Thievish human who performs great blowjobs on thrones? "...significant other!" Legolas smiles and nods. "I have heard about you." - "Elrond is such a blabbermouth!", the King grumbles. "Oh, is it a secret?", Legolas asks in a sticky sweet manner. Thranduil doesn't answer. Prince 1, King 0.

"Anyway...", Thranduil quickly catches himself, "you must be tired from your journey. We prepared a feast for tonight, you could refresh till then?" The younger Elf nods. "Thank you." - "We'll still have plenty of time to talk. Or do you... leave anytime soon?" Legolas shakes his head. "No, no plans about leaving at the moment."

That coaxes a rare smile out of the Elvenking. "You're very welcome to stay..."

The feast in the evening is a joyful event, Legolas sits next to his father, his meal interrupted countless times as every single Woodelf wants to greet him personally with a few friendly words, from guards over servants to advisors. He has a smile for everyone and knows every name. You watch him from your position behind the King, you are his cupbearer, a job that has become routine for you. They don't talk much with each other, but surely a celebration is not the right place for conversations between father and son.

"It is darker than when I left."

Legolas' hand wanders over the leaves of the bushes in the forest. He looks to his father. They went for a ride, the King on the Elk, Prince on the white mare he brought with him. Thranduil doesn't comment that. "Tell me of your time in Rivendell."

"It was... calm. Good to clear my head." - "Was it in such disarray?"

Legolas nods slowly. "After everything that happened, I just couldn't stay. I couldn't stay... near you." The King's eyes are still focussed on the other's face. He doesn't want to miss any nuance of emotion, who knows how many opportunities he will have to do that.

"Why have you returned?", he asks carefully. - "My place is here. I missed it. The forest. Everyone."

They walk further, only stopping to pluck some fresh flowers for Thranduil's crown.

"So... your human...", Legolas begins. Thranduil's fingers tighten around the small bouquet in his hands. "I didn't think... I mean...", the Prince stumbles, "I didn't think that you could give away your heart again. Not after Mother."

"Legolas, your mother was everything..." - "I am not trying to condemn you, _Ada_ _(father)_ ", Legolas interrupts him softly. Thranduil looks at his son, seeking his approval. The young Elf hasn't seen his father like this, pleading, vulnerable, since the end of the battle before Erebor. "I see that this woman means a lot to you." The King sighs. "She does." - "How will you cope when..", the Prince doesn't finish the sentence. Thranduil looks at him angrily. "Why do you ask me what I will do when she dies?!" Legolas isn't impressed by his father's outbreak. "Mother's death changed you. I don't know how we can handle another change. And so quick."

Thranduil gulps. "Y/N is still here... she lives and I want her by my side. Even for a blink in my life." 

They return to the palace in silence.

You hear rising sounds and chatter when you finish pegging out freshly washed horse rugs. You dry your hands off and follow the noises. The reason for it is Legolas, when he notices you, he approaches you with big steps.

"I want to add these scripts to our collection. Would you like to accompany me?", the Prince asks you friendly, smiling conspicuously unconspicuously. Oh no... you know what this is. The You-fuck-my-Dad-talk. You allow yourself an inner sigh as it seems inevitable. At some point you'll have to talk with him about this, so why not now. And it saves you from mucking the stalls. You nod and follow him to the library section of the palace. On the way you talk about nonsense like different recipes for lembas or hunting spots in the woods. 

You help him to file the papers he brought from Rivendell and he invites you to sit in a cozy corner between massive shelves full of scripts, old books and paperscrolls. 

"My father is... special", he begins. You scoff. "You don't say." Legolas laughs. "I don't see it anymore, when you live over 2900 years with him, you get used to it." You rise your brows mildly. "Well, I certainly don't have that much time." He sighs. "No, you don't unfortunately." You smile. "That seems to be a big issue." He leans forward, looking in your eyes. 

"Intimate bonds between Elves and Humans are ill fated", he tells you, "do you know the tale of Beren and Lúthien?" You shake your head. "Lúthien was a wonderful Elven maid, fairest and kindest of all. A star fallen from the nightsky. She fell in love with Beren, a mortal, and he with her." - "What happened to her?" - "She died." You move closer in your armchair to Legolas, lay your hand on his arm. "I would never want Thranduil to die with me. I want him to live and remember me."

His brows jump up surprised. "That's... unexpected", he smiles, takes your hand in his and squeezes it gently, "it's good to hear that." He stands up to leave, looks at you again. "Thank you." Your puzzled face speaks for itself. "He is happy. And that is all I can ask for him." Legolas departs. You stay and think about what he said for a long time.

The celebrations for the return of the Prince go on, you know they are planned out for several days. Tonight you are free and you sit next to Thranduil at the long table, full with finest delicacies and the strong Elvish wine flows easily. You're musing, your mind still at the speech Legolas gave you earlier.

You glance at the King, your wonderful crazyass King, losing yourself in his immortal beauty once more. He will always be like this, his youth and beauty go hand in hand, together into eternity. Melancholy overwhelms you. Will he remember you in a century? In thousand years? Thranduil catches your gaze, lays his hand over yours, stroking it tenderly. He bends over to whisper in your ear. "What darkens your mind?" Damn his high perception. You smile quickly, trying to look confident and assuring. "It is nothing, just lost in thought." The way his eyes penetrate yours lets you know that he can see through your weak excuse easily. You try again. "I am just tired, don't worry." 

A messenger approaches him and you are rescued from his suspicion. After exchanging few words the Elvenking excuses himself and he and the Prince follow the carrier out. What is that about? You wrinkle your nose and sip your wine.

You are already in the Royal bedchambers, preparing for the night, when Thranduil comes in wordlessly. His face is blank, revealing nothing. He takes off his opulent heavy silver mantle he wore for the feast, lays it on a stool and steps to the grand overlook, back towards you. You approach him alarmed.

"What troubles you, beloved?", you ask with tenderness, hand stroking over his strained shoulders.

"There's a shadow in the east." He doesn't avert his eyes from the horizon. You look in the same direction, your arm wraps around him and you melt into his side. "There are always shadows there. What is different now?" - "It feels familiar. I sense I should know the evil but I cannot grasp it." He finally looks at you, you're frightened by the worry in his eyes. "Are... are we in danger?", you ask lowly. He lays his arms around you, his embrace warm and safe.

"The whole world will be in danger."


End file.
